


Burn

by Destina



Category: Wiseguy
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:52:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loyalties shift and are reborn in fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/gifts).



> Written for astolat as a Yuletide treat.

Vinnie believed in ritual. He'd been a cop, so he knew the virtue of doing things the right way and bringing along those who were new to the game. He'd been a dutiful son, and an altar boy as well. There were always sequential steps along the way, a traditional path to be carefully followed. 

Now he was a made man, born in fire and blood, and he was the mob's, but mostly he was Sonny's. Not that there'd ever been any question of it, but now it couldn't be undone. Sonny never did things halfway - if you were in, you were all the way in. 

Pieces of his expensive silk suit were scattered over the cheap beige carpet; costly champagne spilled from toppled two-dollar mass market glasses. The party followed Sonny where Sonny wanted to go, and when he wanted it gone, it left. Sonny's penthouse was somehow immaculate, even with the refuse of this night scattered across it. The scene was perfectly set for disaster. Vinnie could sense it like a storm rolling in over the ocean, the salt-brine harbinger of destruction. 

It was hard for Vinnie to think about that, harder to breathe, with his fingers in Sonny's mouth and the smell of burnt paper all around them. Sonny licked the red skin of his palm, then reached up to slide his hand into Vinnie's hair and yank his head down, claiming his mouth. On Sonny's tongue, Vinnie could taste the faint bitter residue of fire. 

Somewhere in the distant part of his mind he could hear Frank now, nattering on about dichotomy and truth and staying focused, but he was having a hard time concentrating because Sonny was licking his fingers one at a time, touching his tongue to each with careful attention. 

It had all come too easily, right from the start: the harsh affection, the gifts, the power. His blood was filled with it now, the narcotic slide of decadent control, the knowledge that everyone who looked at him would fear him. This wasn't what he was supposed to want; it wasn't who he was. 

Sonny's hand was on his cock, and his teeth were in Vinnie's shoulder, biting down harder with each disciplined stroke of his hand. Wild abandon, tempered by precision; there was some irony in the fact that here, of all places, Sonny was careful not to lose control. 

Vinnie had flung a coffee cup lid on a dashboard once and nearly given himself away. Now he was sure his OCB number must be tattooed on his skin. Everywhere Sonny's mouth touched him, he arched toward it, and then away, as if he could tuck the corners of himself back into the box they'd strayed from. So many secrets to protect, and nowhere to hide them anymore. 

"You with me, Vinnie?" Sonny's rough voice, and the edge of whiskey on his lips; the cold press of his ring against Vinnie's face. Vince. Vinnie. Vincenzo. Different voices, different lives. Pieces of an old self, fractured and set aside. 

Sonny took what he wanted, stripped Vinnie from the inside out. Vinnie tried not to want it, but if there was one thing he had never done, it was lie to himself. He knew what he was; he knew who he'd become. He let Sonny in. There was only one way it was ever going to end. 

Somewhere there was a set of photographs, proof of who he used to be. Proof that loyalty could shift, and be reborn in fire. 

He laughed softly into Sonny's mouth, his hand shaped to Sonny's skull so gently he would never suspect Vinnie had forgotten how to be good. 

"Somethin' funny here?" Sonny asked. His smile was an echo of Vinnie's, but there was doubt in his eyes. 

"Just-" Vinnie turned on his side, pushing Sonny away so the sheets slid down his body. "I will use these weapons for my _capo_? Really?" It made him grin all over again, the symbolic handgun and the threat of blood. "What was the old guy on about? Sanguine?"

Sonny tsked as he gathered up the bunched sheets with one hand, throwing them off. Vinnie didn't pretend to be shy; there was no use pretending anymore. "Vincenzo, please. We've gotta get you up to speed on your Italian."

"I speak plenty Italian, thank you very much."

"Oh yeah?" Sonny bent his head and watched Vinnie's face as he said, " _Dimmi quello che vuoi._ "

"How 'bout I show you instead?" It took a split second to have Sonny on his back, defenseless in his hands. Vulnerable to any whim Vinnie might indulge. Sonny didn't know he should be frightened because it never occurred to Sonny Steelgrave to be frightened of a goddamned thing. 

Vinnie was drunk with wanting him. 

Now Sonny laughed, hands up in mock defeat. "Show me, big man."

"I'm gonna show you everything," Vinnie said. "Give you everything. Be everything. Never doubt it, Sonny." 

"Save it for the morning, huh?" Sonny said, but he was already drawing Vinnie down, taking him up on the offer. It was the simplest thing in the world to let it happen. 

No going back now. 

In the morning, the penthouse was full of sunshine and pain, and Vinnie winced when he rolled to his back. Sonny was up and dressed, standing by the window; he was a long line of silence, an invitation for Vinnie to get nervous. 

Vinnie didn't bother. He stretched his arms over his head and thought about the price of having everything, of choosing what he wanted over where he no longer belonged. He'd be sorry to hurt Frank, and many others who'd staked their careers on him. Someday he'd have to face the consequences at home as well. It was a bridge to be crossed later, when he'd sorted it all out. When he'd made a real attempt at sorting Sonny out, too. 

"You gonna stare a hole in my back?" Sonny took a sip of juice, back still to Vinnie, but Vinnie grinned at the smile in his voice. 

"Be easier if you didn't have all those clothes on."

"There's work to do," Sonny said, and finally, he turned, just to drag his gaze thoroughly over Vinnie's naked body. Vinnie laced his hands behind his head and let him look. He'd get his own back later. 

"You want I should get dressed now?" Vinnie lifted an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, I do. I wasn't kidding about the work. We've got to sort out this business with Patrice and the OCB." Sonny picked up the paper and threw it on the bed. "You can have five for the morning funnies though." 

Vinnie picked the paper up. Newsprint bled off on his fingers, edging them with grey. "Maybe later," he said, throwing it back down into the sheets. He rubbed his fingers together; the ink stung on his skin. 

There was a pressed suit hanging on the door and a new gold watch set out ostentatiously on the bedside table. Neither mattered much; it was Sonny, waiting for Vinnie, ready for what Vinnie might try to make of him - that was worth the burn.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by your prompt: _"If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country."_ (EM Forster)


End file.
